' PS Hi 

.C57aD7 
r«7T 



i.- 









i 



:'^- 




i^HJ^ f^eALiTies 



i^ui^<^\ J.>t 



imPlBK 



.^- 










(<lh 



. \ v^ 



t. 



LIBRARY OF,CprjfiRESS, 

Chap.—.— Copyright No. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



H Boor of Poems. 



BY -y 

LULA BEIvI/E CORPIER 




Nashville, Tenn.: 

Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South. 

Barbee & Smith, Agents. 

1S97. 



\^'b i i^ U 






2059 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, 

By Lula Belle Corpier, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



DEDICATION. 



TO MY DARLING MOTHER 

THIS FIRST LITTLE VOLUME OF MY POEMS 
IS MOST LOVINGLY DEDICATED, 

Not for their worth or grandeur, but 
because of all the world of critics none 
will judge so tenderly these, my heart 
children. To you, who have always 
encouraged and fanned the spark of my 
ambition; to you, to whom each little 
manuscript has been taken before send- 
ing it out into the u,orld; to you, of whose 
love and sympathy I am always confi~ 
dent— I tenderly inscribe these, my dear- 
est treasures, 

LULA BELLE CORPIER. 



PRErACE. 

The preparation of these poems for this little 
volume was begun about six months ago. They 
have been written from time to time durino- the 
last two years. Even when I began selecting from 
my poems for this volume, the idea of having them 
in book form was only a sweet " dream," but by 
perseverance it has become a " reality." In pre- 
senting them to the world I feel, as a fond parent 
might about a dearly loved child, anxious as to 
their reception. But if they carry one ray of 
hope to some troubled heart, one gleam of sun- 
shine to some shadowed life, I shall not have 
worked in vain. Asking the tender Father of 
frail humanity to will it so that good may grow 
out of this small seed, I place them lovingly be- 
fore the public. Lula Belle Corpier. 

December, 1897. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Air-Castles 9 

If We Could Live Life Over 12 

May 14 

The Dear Old Violin 15 

A Tangled Skein 17 

Her Little Hand 19 

All in a Year 21 

Thine Eyes 22 

An Album Verse 23 

King Winter.. , '. 25 

The Picture 26 

Longing 29 

My White Lily 30 

Our Little Schoolgirl in Her Bonnet of Blue 32 

Wrecked 34 

The Power of Love 36 

A Boat-Ride 39 

Little Miss Vanity 41 

"Auld Lang Syne " 43 

A Silver Song 44 

When My Dreams Come True 45 

If We Knew 47 

" Forever and a Day " 48 

An Autumn Day 51 

Work and Wait 53 

The Days of Long Ago 54 

At Twilight 56 

Beyond the Hills 57 



8 DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 

Page 

A Fragment. 60 

To My Mother 61 

" The Science of Forgetting " 63 

By and By 65 

"A Midsummer Night's Dream " 67 

Good Night 68 

The Shadows 69 

The Enchanted Valley 70 

October 72 

Two Daisies 73 

Nobody Ever Knows 75 

Where? 78 

The House Across the Street 81 

I'm Longing for the Hills 83 

Questioning 85 

The Dawn of Christmas 87 

The Death of the Year 91 

The Eecompense 94 

The Old Apple-Tree 97 

The Land of By and By 99 

Alone, Yet not Alone 101 

Alien Lilies 102 

He Speaks to Me 104 

Autumn Leaves 107 

Hands 109 



DREA/nS AND REALITIES. 



AIR-CASTLES. 

1BUILDED a beautiful structure 
Up to the blue dome of the sky, 
As I lived in a golden existence, 

While the long summer days floated by; 
On the topmost golden turret 

Of the castle I carved my name, 
And the only road to this palace 
Is the rose-twined ladder of fame. 

And from all the beautiful windows 

Streamed a rosy perfumed light, 
And the world in my glorious vision 

Had no dark or gloomy night, 
And I lived in the beautiful summer, 

Nor dreamed that a chilling blast 
Would shatter the walls of my castle, 

And wither its roses at last. 



But the winter came, with its chilling winds, 
As winter always will ; 



10 DBEAM8 AND REALITIES. 

And the fairy vision faded 

When the babbling brooks were still; 
And the hand of disappointment 

Filled my heart with dull despair, 
And shattered my wonderful vision, 

My castle in the air. 

But I builded again in the spring-time 

A castle of purest gold ; 
And the beauties of its splendors 

Can never in words be told, 
For its walls were decked with jewels 

Fair as the stars above ; 
It was but a paradise on earth, 

Built for the god of love. 

But again the spring-time passed away; 

The stars faded one by one; 
The chilling voice of a cruel fate 

Said: "Thy beautiful dream is done; 
No more to ambition, no more to love. 

Build thou these visions fair. 
For every time they must crumble, 

Your castles in the air." 



So I put away the fancy, 

And turned to the duties of life. 



AIR-CASTLES. 11 

Determined to win its battles, 

And conquer every strife; 
But the summer dreams would come to me, 

And their spells around me cast, 
And I builded once more a castle 

From the ashes of the past. 

And the walls of this poorer palace 

Were silvered by hope's pale gleam, 
And I moved expecting pitfalls, 

I lived in a waking dream. 
Once more my castle crumbled. 

And my heart makes bitter moan. 
Once more in the winter of sorrow 

I am left mid the ruins alone. 

My last bright dream has faded. 

And shadows, dark and vast, 
Have arisen out of the sunhght, 

And their gloom about me cast; 
But I wonder if time should heal the wound, 

And life once more were fair. 
If I would build another 

Frail castle in the air. 



IF WE COULD LIVE LIFE OVER. 

IF we could live life over, 
O the changes we would make ! 
We would heal the broken-hearted, 

Nor cause bleeding hearts to break. 
But, alas! the years, they vanish 
Till the summers all are dead. 
And at last we find, with sorrow, 
That our chances all are fled. 

If we could live life over, 

O the good we all might do ! 
In the busy whirl of living 

There is yet a work for you ; 
There are lives that we might brighten 

With no efl'ort — just a breath — 
But we never think about it 

Till they sleep the sleep of death. 

If we could live life o'er. 

We'd take back the cruel word 
That broke some heart that loved us. 

When its mocking scorn was heard, 
We would plead for full forgiveness. 

We would save long years of pain, 
We would make some heart much lighter 

Could we live our lives again. 



IF WE COULD LIVE LIFE OVER. 13 

If we could live life over ! 

Ah, the years are on the wing, 
And through storm and change and heartache 

Time ne'er gives us back our spring. 
Days once gone are gone forever, 

Life does not in seasons roll. 
And the summer days and sunshine 

Come but once to any soul. 

If we could live life over, 

O the changes we would make ! 
Down the years this cry is ringing 

From ten thousand hearts that break. 
Of your deeds be very careful. 

Guard with care the words you say, 
You will wish to live life over, 

You will want them back some day. 




MAY. 

eOD sent a little drop of dew 
Down from its home in the far-off blue, 
A message of love to the sleeping flowers, 
Of sunny days and cooling showers; 
A whisper it gave to the budding trees, 
As it passed in the arms of the evening breeze, 
And said: "Awake, once more be gay. 
For it is May, sweet, sunny May." 

The flowers awoke and lifted up 
Each shining bell and fragrant cup. 
The bird-choir sang in the apple-trees 
A welcome song to the flowers and bees. 
The daisies came in gowns of white 
And crowded the clovers left and right; 
The tulips came in hats so gay 
That every grass-blade knew 'twas May. 

The bee bent over the rose and said 

Something that made her blush quite red; 

The violet lifted her eyes of blue 

To catch the trembling drops of dew. 

The bluebird whistled to his mate, 

" Let's build our nest by the orchard gate;" 

And every breeze-voice seemed to say, 

Be happy again, for it is May," 



THE DEAR OLD VIOLIN. 

BEING forth the dear old violin, 
And softly draw the bow, 
And let me see if I can feel 

The joys of long ago. 
Perhaps the storm of sorrow 

And the weight of care and pain 
Would vanish could I listen 
To its melody again . 

Bring forth the dear old violin, 

And play that old, sweet strain. 
And perhaps the old-time happiness 

Will flood my soul again. 
So well do I remember 

One night, now long ago. 
When your eyes brought me a message 

As you softly drew the bow. 

Outside the clouds were gathering 

That heralded the storm; 
Inside, that gloomy winter's night, 

At least two hearts were warm, 
For on the throbbing music 

There seemed to rise and flow 
A message from your heart to mine. 

With the drawing of the bow. 



16 



DREAMS AND EEALITIES. 



So bring your dear old violin, 

I long to hear to-night 
The music that has power to thrill 

My soul with such delight, 
And somehow o'er me steals the joy 

I used to know when 
Your eyes looked messages to mine 

Across the violin. 




A TANGLED SKEIN. 

®UE lives are like a tangled skein 
That we try to untangle in vain, in vain. 
God gave iis our lives in a straight bright 

thread 
To weave for heaven a golden web; 
And though we have toiled by day and night, 
The threads are tangled, they are not right. 



If the past, with its wrongs, we could undo, 

And begin the weaving all anew, 

Perhaps we should know how to keep in sight 

Of the beautiful pattern, and weave aright, 

And feel to-day no bitter pain 

That our lives are only a tangled skein. 

By past mistakes we might learn to guide 
The threads of gold from side to side, 
And in the light of the after-years 
The cloth would show no stain of tears, 
If we could all the knots undo, 
And begin to weave our lives anew. 



What is past is past, and the wish is vain 
To ever untangle the tangled skein; 
2 



18 DREAMS AND KEALITIES. 

Cloth once woven into the web 
Can never go back and again be thread; 
So lives where mistakes and successes blend 
Must bear the stain when the weavings end. 

But we may strive in the coming years, 
Though we view our work through falling 

tears, 
To keep our threads all straight and bright, 
And weave the rest of the web aright; 
And though the first many knots may hold, 
Let the last of the web be a cloth of gold. 

And then when the weaving all is done, 
And we from the loom of life are gone, 
Jesus will take the tangled skein 
And make the threads all straight again . 




HER LITTLE HAND. 

®NE night I held close clasped within my own 
Her little hand, 
And silver moonlight through the window shone 
Like fairy-land. 

Her little hand was fair as the white flower 

Upon her breast, 
And warm with life, and full of magic power, 

As mine it pressed. 

The room was full of shadows, save the path 

The moonlight made; 
By chance, or some design of fate, we sat 

Within the shade. 

A thrill my soul could not resist, 

JS'or understand. 
Came o'er me, and I bent and kissed 

Her little hand. 

The years have fled, with many, many a change, 

Since then, 
And life has taught me all the lessons strange 

That fall to men. 



20 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

The little hand that lay within my own, 

With love and trust, 
Hath lain for years beneath a graven stone, 

In crumbled dust. 

But here to-night, when silvery moonlight shone 

Like fairy-land, 
I seemed to feel again within my own 

Her little hand. 




ALL IN A YEAR. 

AYEAE is short; the seasons come and go 
In swift succession, and the winter snow, 
In silence, soon will shroud through many hours 
The fields where bloom to-day a thousand flow- 
ers. 
A year is short ; the world that smiles to-day 

In vernal beauty will be brown and sere. 
And yet I met you, loved you, lost you — all. 
All in a year. 



THINE EYES. 

THINE eyes first made me love thee, they 
alone 
First won my heart and made me all thine own. 
My heart, too tender to be overwise. 
Went from me on the love-beams of thine eyes, 
Thine eyes like azure water, willow-grown. 

Thine eyes still make me love thee, they alone. 
Although our hearts and hands have strangers 
grown. 
All the sweet bliss the tyrant Fate denies 
I see within thy tender, smiling eyes. 
Thine eyes like woodland bluebells widely blown. 



AN ALBUM VERSE. 

THEY touched this page, those slender, boy- 
ish fingers, 
They wrote these words one long-past sum- 
mer day, 
And like the echo, faint and sweet, that lingers 
When the last quivering note has died away. 
So there comes stealing o'er my heart to-night 
An echo from the olden days' delight. 

How well I know the writing, plain and bold, 
A thousand memories cluster round each line; 

I see your dear face, as in days of old. 

Your smiling eyes look tenderly into mine. 

It seems to draw you nearer, very near, 

When I reread the lines you wrote, dear. 

To memory's banqueting to-night there came 
Ghosts of the past that never really slept, 

Eoused by these words : " May my name 
In fond remembrance evermore be kept." 

Ah me, within my heart's most tender spot 

Your name is twined with blue forget-me-not. 

But memory's feast is yet so bitter-sweet, 
We find so many dregs within the wine 



24 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

That we will shrink, and our poor feet 

Will falter when we enter there to dine; 
And yet who would not give up life and all 
To live again some day beyond recall ? 

I close the book, my eyes are dim with weeping; 

Depart, ye ghosts of the dead past who came; 
Leave me once more in silence, keeping 

" In fond remembrance " that one loved name. 
They haunt me still — old scenes, old joys, old 

grief, 
Recalled by the lines upon this leaf. 




KING WINTER. 

WHAT means this wild commotion 
Of the spirits of the night? 
And why does mother Nature wear 

Her bridal robes of white? 
And why is eyery dark tree dressed 

In gems a prince might own, 

Of glittering ice? It is because 

King Winter's on the throne. 

So all the wind went forth to-night, 

With carpets for each nook, 
And robes for every hill and dale, 

And ice coats for the brook, 
And frost lace spun from cobwebs, 

And moonbeams intersown. 
To deck each fence and shrub because 

King Winter's on the throne. 

And then the stars will come to light 

His coronation scene, 
And every wind-minstrel shall play 

Soft melodies between ; 
And all the court, arrayed in white, 

With frost-cold tresses blown, 
Will bow in humble greeting to 

King Winter on his throne. 



THE PICTURE. 

YES, the face is just the same — 
Eyes of azure and golden hair — 
It smiles at me from the quaint old frame 
That stands on the table there. 

I can see her just as she was that day, 
Sweet as a rosebud dipped in dew, 

Young and happy, merry and gay, 
Clad in a dress of blue. 



Under the apple-trees, down by the brook, 
I told her the story so old, yet new, 

And read my fate at a single look 
Into her eyes of blue ; 

Eead that she loved me, but we must wait. 
She was too young to claim her then, 

So I kissed her and dreamed of a happier fate 
Than a lonely life and a bachelor's den. 

Well I remember the little elf; 

She was sixteen the very day 
That she brought me that picture, her darling 
self. 

And kissed me and ran away. 



THE PICTUBE. 27 

No one could look on that fair young face, 
And into those eyes of heavenly blue, 

And dream that her heart could give a place 
To a thought that v^as untrue. 

But even yet I will not blame 

The idol of my boyhood years, 
For the pain that to my fond heart came. 

And the storm of doubts and fears ; 

For she was caught in the busy whirl 

Of the world, like a bubble upon a stream ; 

And it bore away my little girl, 
Away from the old, sweet dream. 

She found position and rank and wealth, 
Her home a palace — a banker's wife — 

I, robbed of my darling by cruel stealth, 
Am left to a bachelor's lonely life. 

But my darling's picture is just the same; 

Eyes of azure and golden hair; 
And it smiles at me from the quaint old frame 

That stands on the table there. 

And I love her yet, though it may seem. 

That she was false as she was fair; 
For all I have of that old, sweet dream 

Is her picture standing there. 



28 DBEAMS AND REALITIES. 

But to me that picture is all in all, 

For it carries me back to life's dead spring, 

To days forever beyond recall ; 
And I hear the bluebirds sing. 

And smell again the sweet perfume 

Of flowers that faded long ago, 
And through the stillness and the gloom 

Eings the laughter I loved so. 

I never think of her growing old, 

With brow that is furrowed and marked by 
care. 
To me her tresses are always gold. 

She is always young and fair. 

For my darling's picture is just the same, 

Eyes of azure and golden hair, 
As it smiles at me from its quaint old frame 

That stands on the table there. 



LONGING. 

LOW in the western sky the sun is sinking, 
A mass of pink and gold, 
And looking toward the west, I'm thinking, 
thinking. 
And longing as of old. 

From out across the fields, in mellow sweetness, 

The sounds of evening float, 
But in the music of my life's completeness 

There is a silent note. 

From 'mong the hills to where the sunset lingers 

The first pale shadows creep, 
And something in my heart the twilight's fin- 
gers 

Have roused from sleep. 

And though the day was full of peaceful pleasure, 

There comes the old-time pain 
And longing for a tenderer, sweeter measure, 

Both sad and vain. 

Low down the west the last faint tints are 
dying 

On beds of blue, 
And in my heart there is a longing, sighing 

For love and you. 



MY WHITE LILY, 

THE garden beds are gay with flowers, 
The lily buds are white, 
And from their pearly cups of bloom 
A delicate and rare perfume 
Steals out across the night. 

These lilies, like some pearly keys, 

Unlock the halls of memory vast. 

Like some sweet strain of music fled, 

Like breath of flowers that are dead, 

Are the days that now are past. 

I see again that glorious night, 

That radiant silver moon; 
A fragrance floats upon the breeze 
That softly stirs the cherry-trees. 

Sweet with the kiss of June. 

You said : " The first sweet lily bud 
That blooms I'll bring to you." 

Now all the summer winds that blow 

Kiss the lilies' cups of snow, 
But the promise proved untrue. 

You said : " Before the lilies bloom, 
One lily I may bring." 



MY WHITE LILY. 31 

And in the garden of my heart 
Of all the fair, sweet flowers thou art 
The fairest and the king. 

The night wind wafts the sweet perfume 

Of lilies to me now; 
And though they are my favorite flower, 
These angels of a bright, brief hour 

Are not so fair as thou. 




OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL IN HER BONNET 
OF BLUE. 

THEEE'S a dear little lassie about eii^ht 
years old, 
With eyes like the bluebells and hair bright as 

gold, 
With face like a lily and heart good and true — 
She's our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue. 

'Bout eight in the morning, when school-bells 

ring, 
You see her get ready, the sweet little thing; 
And she pins on a flower, still wet with the dew. 
And ties just above it her bonnet of blue. 

Then away trips our lassie; she don't want to 

wait. 
For the prompt little darling don't want to be 

late. 
She's a sweet little maiden as ever I knew. 
And looks like a flower in her bonnet of blue. 

And we turn to go in with her kiss on our 
lips, 

And another blown back from her pink finger- 
tips, 



OUR LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL. 33 

And we say : " May God bless her, and troubles 

be few 
For our little schoolgirl in her bonnet of blue." 

Wo all are school children in life's great school, 
And often before us there lies some hard rule. 
And sorrows surround us and joys are few; 
From these guard our lassie in her bonnet of 
blue. 

Smooth out the rough places before her dear 

feet. 
And make all life's school-days both happy and 

sweet. 
And keep her as pure, as good, and as true 
As she is to-day in her bonnet of blue. 
3 




WEECKED. 

a FLASH of lightning in a midnight sky, 
An ocean with wild waves that lash and 
roar, 
A poor ship, with no help or succor nigh, 

Struggling amid the breakers, far from shore. 
With frantic beings roused from midnight sleep 
To find a grave within the briny deep. 

The hours pass by, the hurricane is o'er, 

A few i^ale stars peep frightened from the 
sky, 
The blackened wreck drifts helplessly toward 
shore ; 
But neath the gurgling waves the sailors lie. 
The storm was brief; it was a cruel fate, 
The calm came soon, but came, alas ! too late. 

Ah me! a life on time's great ocean once set 
sail. 
As fair as ever left the Father's care, 
A life that dreamed of no such word as " fail," 
Followed and guarded by a mother's prayer. 
But winds of hate o'ertook the fragile bark, 
And storms of fate have made its pathway 
dark. 



WRECKED. 



35 



And now, although the cruel storms have passed, 
And the wild waves have ceased to lash and 
roar, 

And the long-prayed- for calm has come at last. 
It drifts, a helpless wreck, far out from shore, 

Wrecked, soul and body, by its cruel fate. 

For peace and calm have come at last — too late. 




THE POWER OF LOVE. 

THE master workman made a beauteous 
harp — 
A harp of pearl, with strings of pure gold. 
He studded it with jewels, bright as stars, 

Yet when he swept the strings the notes were 
cold. 



Where was the melody for which he longed? 

He burst into a flood of bitter tears ; 
Something seemed lacking, though the notes were 
sweet; 

Lost was the work of weary, weary years. 



A wild despair swept o'er the workman's soul; 

The harp lay silent like a cold, dead thing; 
And he had dreamed the world would pause to 
hear 

The melody when once he touched the string. 

He laid the harp aside; he stood alone 
Amid the ruins of his dreams so fair; 

Alas! ambition, when thy fires burn low. 
So swiftly follows then the dark despair. 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 37 

Years passed. The workman wandered flir, 
In distant lands, and there he learned to love. 

Earth suddenly became a paradise, 

He dreamed of bliss like angels know above. 

But ah, the golden dream was all too brief. 

He woke to find that he had loved in vain, 
And in the gloaming of a beauteous day, 

The broken-hearted wandered home again. 

And then he thought of that bright dream of 
fame, 
And brought forth to the light the harp again. 
He stood beneath the stars and breathed her 
name. 
Then touched the strings; they quivered as 
with pain. 

He thought of her, of her sweet face and smile, 
And all the while he softly swept the strings; 

A melody responded strangely sweet, 
And sad, like songs a wanderer sings. 

The bh'ds all hushed their songs to hear; 

The busy world paused, and the hurrying 
throng 
Listened in wonder while the breaking heart 

Gave vent to its wild sorrow in sweet song. 



38 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

They followed him, like Orpheus of old, 
The music was so sad, so strangely sweet, 

Each note seemed throbbing with a tender love, 
They clustered, wondering, at the workman's 

feet. 

Some heart seemed breaking in each tender 
chord, 
Each note seemed glittering with sorrow's 
tears ; 
Yet love was in it all — a love so strong. 
It seemed to be eternal, not of years. 

And then the workman said: "At last I know 
The secret which the angels know above, 

Without it life would be a barren waste. 
The power that moves the universe is love." 




A BOAT-RIDE. 

•'T^HE moon's asleep, mid shadows deep, 
L In the dusky Southern sky; 

And we gently float in our swaying boat, 
Together — you and I. 

Now sweet and low, the waters flow, 
And the spell I would not break; 

All the world forgot, in this quiet spot 
On the bosom of the lake. 

Eow gently, gondolier, 

Over the rippling stream; 
Eow gently, gondolier, 

I'm living in a dream. 

Float, float, fairy boat. 

Over the waters wide; 
Dream! dream! on life's deep stream; 

We're drifting with the tide. 

Now faint, yet clear, there comes, my dear, 

Sweet music from the shore. 
And our gondolier, now there, now here, 

Keeps time with his faithfuloar. 



40 



DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 



The night winds blow as on we go, 

And with you by my side 
I half-way long, like the quaint old song, 

That life were a long boat-ride. 

Row gently, gondolier, 
Over the rippling stream; 

Row gently, gondolier, 
I'm living in a dream. 

Float, float, fairy boat 

Over the waters wide ; 
Drift on, then, forever 

Over life's changing tide. 




LITTLE MISS VANITY. 

LITTLE Mies Vanity looks in the glass 
Ten times a day, her friends declare, 
To see if the summer winds that pass, 
Have made her dimpled face more fair. 

Little Miss Vanity's eyes are blue. 
Blue as the sky on a summer night, 

Blue as the violets bathed in dew. 
Clear as the winter stars and bright. 

Little Miss Vanity's curls are gold, 

Gold as threads from the sunbeams spun, 

They cling with a rippling, shimmering fold 
To the head they rest upon. 

Little Miss Vanity's lips are red 
Eed as the dainty cypress flower, 

Red as the rose in the garden bed. 
Sweet with the sun and shower. 

Little Miss Vanity's voice is clear, 
Clear and sweet as the bird's in June; 

Hark! how the sound of it charms my ear, 
Singing that old love-tune. 



42 DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 

Little Miss Yanity, don't yon know 
That to bo vain is very wrong? 

Little Miss Vanity trills " O no! " 
To the tune of the old love-song. 

Little Miss Yanity, don't you know 
Beauty will fade, like the flowers die? 

That time will come when the tress of snow 
On your beautiful brow will lie? 

There are treasures that God has given 
Into your keeping, fair little one; 

And they will live in the courts of heaven. 
When beauty and life are done. 

They are the wonderful mine, the soul ; 

Better are they than gifts that pass; 
They will live while the ages roll; 

Turn away from your looking-glass. 



''AULD LANG SYNE." 

THEY wonder why I love it — 
The old step at the door — 
And why I like to linger there 
When twilight floateth o'er. 
'Tis for the tender memories 

That round the old step twine; 
'Tis for the sake of some one, and 
" The days of auld lang syne." 

The world seems drifting from me, 

When I sit out there and dream. 
And sweet fancies, half forgotten. 

From the past, like starlight, gleam. 
Olden hopes, and love and longings, 

Eound my heart their fingers twine, 
And my pulse beats to the music of 

" The days of auld lang syne." 

There the air is fraught with memories 

On a starry summer night. 
When the leaves are all a-whisper 

And a-flutter with delight. 
Ah, some dreams are very real, 

But when morning sunbeams shine 
Once more I leave behind me 

" The days of auld lang syne." 



A SILVER SONG. 

gWEETHEAET, the spring has come again, 
The hills and dales are dressed in green, 
The flowers nod to the passing breeze, 
The birds sing in the budding trees. 
But one song sings my happy heart: 
" 'Tis paradise where'er thou art." 
Blow, blow, south winds, blow! 

O summer, don't be long. 
For every morn with its golden haze. 
Brings nearer and nearer thy sunny days, 

And life is a silver song. 

The robin swings in the lilac-tree, 

And sings to his mate, " Come, love, with me; " 

The bee tells to the blushing clover 

The sweet old story, over and over. 

And I wonder, love, where'er thou art. 

If it is summer in thy heart. 

Blow, blow, south winds, blow, 

Waft my boat along. 
For every kiss of the silver sea 
Brings nearer and nearer my love to me, 

And life is a silver song. 



WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. 

WHEN my dreams come true, when my 
dreams come true, 
My heart's best love I may oflfer you. 
For I shall have wealth at my command, 
And ships at sea, and fertile land. 
And pile upon pile of golden store, 
And jewels — a kingdom's worth and more. 
But, best of all, I shall have you, 
When the sweetest dream of my life comes true. 

When my dreams come true, when my dreams 

come true. 
What is there then that I can not do? 
For I shall have a wondrous fame, 
And the world shall pause when it breathes my 

name. 
I shall count my friends by the hundred score. 
(With the fortune-favored, 'tis always so); 
But, best of all, it will bring me you. 
When my dreams come true, when my dreams 

come true. 

When my dreams come true, when my dreams 

come true, 
My sweetest dream I'll tell to you. 



46 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

It is that, without the world's vain charms, 
You will drift some day to my waiting arms, 
And I shall be loved for myself alone, 
Though riches and fame are both unknown. 
With these or without them, that I may have you 
Is the sweetest dream that could e'er come true. 




IF WE KNEW. 

IF we knew at the beginning, 
All the woes we have to bear; 
If we knew for years before them 
All our heartaches and our care; 
Would not many of us falter? 

Would we not shed bitter tears 
If we could read on before us 
All the story of the years? 

Would not many bruised feet stumble, 

As we press life's thorny way, 
With no sweet hojDe to sustain us. 

Of a coming, brighter day? 
Could we struggle on with courage 

If we knew what storms await? 
Would we not give up the journey 

Ere we pass life's morning gate? 

So I think it is the wisdom 

Of the Father's tender love. 
That has made the mystic future 

All unknown and yet to prove. 
So 'tis best that we accept it 

As our Father's loving plan; 
Leaving to him all the future, 

Live, to-day, the best we can. 



"FOREVER AND A DAY." 

SAID I, " Priscilla, darling, how long will you 
be true ? 

Can you love a sailor laddie far away upon the 
blue? 

The sky was fair above us, and across the sap- 
phire sea 

The sunset threw a path of gold. Near by a lazy 
bee, 

Eocked in a wild-rose cradle, and the murmur of 
the waves 

Sent a kind of drowsj^ echo to that quiet place of 



The golden head was lifted, and the sweet eyes 
sought my face. 

Said she: " Yon moss-grown grave-stone marks a 
woman's resting-place. 

It gives her name and age, and then ' She was a 
faithful wife 

Through all the joys, cares, and jDains of forty 
years of life.' 

Now she was faithful fortj^ years; I will be 
true, dear one, 

As long as she, whoe'er she be, who sleeps be- 
neath this stone." 



"FOREVER AND A DAY." 49 

We pulled the clinging vines away, and, eager, 

looked between. 
Upon the gray stone were the words: " Priscilla, 

aged nineteen." 
My darling raised her eyes to mine; I saw a 

tear-drop fall, 
"She was Priscilla, too," she said, but she was 

not true at all ." 
That night we sat upon the steps of the house 

beside the sea, 
Priscilla's aunt within the door, my darling close 

to me. 

And she said : " Tell me, auntie dear, the story, 

if you will. 
Who was ' Priscilla, aged nineteen,' who sleeps 

upon the hill?" 
" She was a kinswoman of yours, dear child," her 

aunt rej^lied, 
" Who lived and loved and suffered long years 

ago, and died; 
She loved a sailor laddie, and would have been 

his wife. 
But his ship went down at sea one day, and she 

soon left this life." 

My darling's hand crept into mine, her voice 
was full of tears : 
4 



50 



DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 



" I was wrong, her love was stronger than the 
love of forty years; 

Her love was one that took her life when he had 
gone away, 

She did not love for weeks and years, but ' for- 
ever and a day.' " 

And then I said : " You promised to be true as 
she was true." 

She answered softly: "So I will; I'll love for- 
ever, too." 



b-.\ 




AN A UTUMN DA Y. 

1IKE some fair, blushing maid 
-J In bright attire dressed, 
The old world is arrayed 
Now — in her best. 

In crimson, green, and gold. 
Like Joseph's gorgeous coat, 

The trees their flags unfold. 
And wave and float. 

The hills, in purple mist, 

To greet the sun are dressed, 

All sparkling and dew-kissed. 
He leans upon their breast. 

And as he climbs the blue. 
Below a glad bee hums, 

Because he's found a bed 
Of gold chrysanthemums. 

And in the maple-tree 

A gleeful, feathered throng 

Is trying to select 

Their " good-by " song. 



52 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And summer seems to pause 
On hill and field and sky, 

And lingers yet, because 
She soon must fly. 

Adown the western sky, 
Like limpid, amber wines, 

In cups of crimson dye. 
The sunset shines. 

And from the east, pearl-pale, 
The stars come, one by one, 

Then night, swift on their trail, 
And day is done. 




WORK AND WAIT. 

THOUGrH 'tis night above, around you, 
Light will dawn, though it come late: 
Keep up heart while in the darkness, 
Work and wait. 

Though your dreams seem all beyond you. 
We can sometimes change our fate; 

Perseverance worketh wonders, 
Work and wait. 

Give not up your pet ambition, 

Struggle on, and, soon or late. 
Fair success will crown your efforts, 

Work and wait. 



THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 

®YEAES that have come, O years that have 
gone, 
Pause a moment as you go, 
Turn backward the pages in life's great book, 
And make me a child once more. 

Oh, I sigh for the days of long ago. 
When my heart was as light as air, 

When childhood sorrows, like April snow, 
Melted beneath sunshine fair. 

O give me back the violet's blue. 

By the meadow brook's silvery gleam. 

And the sweet wild flowers that always grew 
Where the willows kiss the stream. 

And my childhood playmates, where are they ? 

Have they found life full of woe ; 
Or have they found it the golden dream 

That we thought it long ago? 

The day is cold with wintry chill, 

And dark with the falling rain, 
And my heart is weary and clamors still 

For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. 

The childhood days were made so sweet 
By freedom from thought of care, 



THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 55 

And those wonderful visions I had e'en then, 
The castles in the air. 

O give me back the chiMhood joys, 

And the loves that I knew then. 
And the childish faith and the simple trust 

That I had in my fellow men. 

Oh, I long to-day for the sweet old days 

When hearts were fondly true. 
And I trod the sun-clad, flower-decked ways 

That my haj^py childhood knew. 

They are gone, all gone, the joys of old, 

The home and its sunny nooks, 
The hours of play the livelong day, 

The flowers and rippling brooks. 

They are gone, all gone, the childish loves, 
And the comrades I played with then. 

And the simple trust and the pure faith 
That I had in my fellow men. 

For the rainbow dreams of childhood years 

Have faded, as all dreams must; 
And the castles of air, though wondrous fair, 

Have crumbled in the dust. 

And the day is cold with wintry chill, 

And dull with a mist of rain. 
And my heart is weary and clamors still 

For the dreams that it dreamed in vain. 



AT TWILIGHT. 

THE day may bring to me its fleeting 
pleasures, 
Or cares and sorrow, as my lot may be. 
They sink to rest when purple shadows lengthen — 
At twilight, dear, there comes a thought of thee. 

The day dies out in clouds of ruby splendor, 
The noisy crows fly homeward o'er the lea, 

A hazy veil rests on the distant woodland — 
The twilight hour has come with thoughts of 
thee. 

And o'er my soul there comes a longing sadness. 
That I too, like the crows, might homeward fly. 

And be with one I love when twilight shadows 
Float like pale mist across the evening sky. 



BEYOND THE HILLS. 

THE silver twilight rests upon the meadows, 
And in the fields of heaven blooms forth 
a star, 
And from the hilltops, with their purple shadows, 

Strange voices seem to call me from afar, 
Saying that rest from all life's cares and ills 
Is waiting for me there, beyond the hills. 



hills, what are you always hiding, hiding? 
My restless, longing heart cries with despair. 

The want that, with me, ever is abiding 

Would vanish, could I reach that genial air. 
My heart with sudden, rapturous wonder thrills, 
When I think of the world beyond the hills. 

Beyond the hills the great world's heart is beating, 
Its massive wheels are always moving on, 

And tides of human life are parting, meeting, 
'Till world and time and busy life are gone. 

Somewhere there is a place, fate for me wills, 

In that great world beyond the purple hills. 

1 stretch my arms in pleading prayer at even, 
To those majestic hills that bar the way. 



58 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And while the countless stars smile down from 
heaven, 
I whisper, " They will come another day " — 
The joy and peace from all life's little ills. 
That wait somewhere beyond the silent hills. 

And when my heart is wrung by pain and sorrow 
That I can tell to none for sympathy, 

I think that with the dawning of the morrow 
The love for which I long may come to me, 

And all my heart with answering love fills. 

For some one out beyond those distant hills. 

And when the morning comes with cloud-rifts 
breaking. 

And sunshine kisses all the world with glee, 
1 try to think, although my heart is aching, 

That with the evening it may come to me — 
The love that every heartache soothes and stills, 
That must be somewhere out beyond the hills. 

But still the purple hills are hiding, hiding 
My treasure from my longing, waiting sight, 

And with me still the old pain is abiding, 
And once again the daylight dies in night; 

And I cry out, with pain that never stills : 

"When will it come?" — the peace beyond the 
hills. 



BEYOND THE HILLS. 59 

So day by day the wheels of life are turning; 

In the old ruts they're turning day by day, 
And with me lingers yet that ceaseless yearning 

That by its grinding wears my life away. 
Sometimes I cry that from these pains and ills 
There is no rest beyond the silent hills. 

And then a voice whispers: " Wait still longer; 

For every care and sorrow there's an end." 
And my poor fainting heart grows strangely 
stronger: 

Beyond the hills I have, at least, one Friend; 
So I can wait His coming till He wills — 
For heaven lies beyond those silent hills. 




A FRAGMENT. 

THERE'S a chill in thy breezes, O Summer! 
There's a gloom in thy sun's brighest ray, 
There's a blight on the buds and the blossoms, 
Since somebody's gone away. 

There's a note of despair in the bird's song, 
There's a cloud in the heart of the day. 

There's a feeling of loneliness all the day long, 
Since somebody's gone away. 

There's a throb of regret in the morning. 
There's a loss in the night shadows gray, 

There is longing and love for somebod}-, 
Since somebody's gone away. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

YOU are not here, sweet mother dear, 
And yet I feel, despite the gloom, 
Your precious presence in my room, 
And I know your heart is here. 

Just yesterday you went away; 

But every hour seems an age 

When one loved face, on memory's page, 
Holdeth such constant sway. 

And when the sun his course has run, 
To-morrow you'll be here. 
And I shall clasp you, mother dear. 

And loneliness be done. 

What would I do, dear, if I knew 
That you would come no more, 
That all my waiting never would be o'er? 

Ah me! what could I do? 

The sweet daylight would turn to night, 
And from the shadow of thy tomb 
Would spread an everlasting gloom. 

That life could ne'er make bright. 



62 DKEAMS AND EEALITIES. 

And yet I know that one of us must some time go 
Across death's cold and narrow sea, 
From time unto eternity, 

And leave the other here below. 

If it be you, O heart most true! 
1 would not, could not tarry long, 
Till from life's discord to the land of song, 

My soul should follow you. 

If it be I, that first am called upon to die. 
Close by the portal of the golden gate 
My soul should stand and watch for thee and 
wait, 

Though centuries passed by. 

We do not know, and it's better so. 
Which one shall face the vast eternity, 
And leave the other here alone to see 

Days of unending woe. 

But this I know: I love thee so 
That even out beyond death's sea, 
Bej^ond life, to eternity, 

My love shall reach and go. 



" THE SCIENCE OF FORGETTING." 

/g^ mothei! Nature, well I know 
Vv That thou art rich in treasure; 
That thou hast jewels all aglow, 

And beauties without measure. 
Thou hast the mountain heights sublime, 

The glowworm's burning ember; 
Thou hast the flowers of bonny May, 

The snows of bleak December. 

Thou hast the sun-kissed rivulet. 

Thou hast the storm-tossed ocean, 
And all thy throbbing heart is full 

Of life and glow and motion. 
Thou hast the sunset's golden gleam, 

Like gem in azure setting, 
But hast thou any, anywhere 

The science of forgetting? 

O wisest sages that have lived 

Since man began life's story; 
O ye who over musty books 

Have bent till ye are hoary. 
Have ye e'er found a word that said 

A soul may cease its fretting? 
In any volume, did you learn 

The science of forgetting? 



64 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

O traveler from beyond the sea, 

Thou hast crossed hill and river, 
O tell me, didst thou find a spot 

Where heartaches die forever? 
Where olden memories haunt us not. 

Our daily lives besetting; 
Is there a land where man can learn 

The science of forgetting? 

wise astronomers who read 
Upon the page of heaven 

The history of other worlds 

The golden stars have given. 
Do you not learn from those bright guides 

When other lore you're getting, 
The lesson all mankind would know, 

The science of forgetting? 

Is there a time in human life 
When past woes sleep forever? 

1 throw the question out in space, 
And Time makes answer, " Never." 

Perhaps when many years have fled. 
Time's magic, soothing finger 

May smooth griefs jagged edge away. 
But memory still will linger. 



BY AND BY. 

HOW little all these things will seem, 
By and by; 
These clouds that shut out the sunlight's gleam 
Will vanish away like a midnight dream, 
Or a bubble lost on the rushing stream, 
By and by. 

These cares in the light of the after-years, 

By and by; 
These things o'er which we grieve with tears, 
How soon the weight of them disappears 
When the sun shines forth and the tempest clears, 

By and by. 

That trouble that almost breaks your heart. 

By and by; 
That thing which Beemed of your life a part, 
That the loss of left such a cruel smart. 
You will grieve less over, after Time's art, 

By and by. 



We will smile some day at the woes we've had. 

By and by; 
We will laugh at things we once thought bad, 
5 



c 
6Q DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

At things o'er which we were grieved and sad, 
And feel that our lives are happy and glad, 
By and by. 

O the changes that Time can make, 

By and by; 
The eyes that weep and hearts that ache 
In the light of the future some day'U awake 
To find that hearts are hard to break, 

By and by. 

Of course there are things we never forget, 

By and by; 
But the little worries o'er which we fret, 
That little unkindness that stings you yet 
Will pass away without regret, 

By and by. 

Look up and wait for a brighter day 

By and by; 
When all these clouds shall have rolled away, 
And we can look back o'er our lives and say : 
" There were some threads golden as well as gray," 

By and by. 



"A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." 

•^«r^HE moon hangs low in the western sky, 
(dL And the world is all asleep, 
Save where the breeze goes whispering by, 

A watch with the stars to keep. 
The flowers lean with a weight of dew 

On their beds of velvet green ; 
Aad a ghostly light in the dew-damp night, 

The glowworm burns between. 

And the fairies come from the world of dreams 

To dance 'neath the moonlit trees, 
To the music of the mock-bird's song 

That floats on the summer breeze. 
And they stoop and kiss the sleeping flowers, 

But never a bud they wake; 
Then away they float in a sea-shell boat 

Over the silver lake. 

And I call to you across the night. 

And the miles that lie between; 
" The world is sweet and the moon's soft light 

Falls fair on the dewy green," 
And I long for the touch of your hand in mine 

In the hush of the summer night, 
And your eyes' soft beam, though but a dream, 

Would fill me with delight. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

rXOOJy night, sweetheart. 

vIX Across the sunset bars 
There comes a glimmer of the evening stars; 
And o'er the glorious sea of amber light 
I send you, as of old, a fond good night. 

Good night, sweetheart. 
The darkness dawns apace; 
But if it holds but one glimpse of your face 
No night could e'er be darkness, love, to me, 
In which your darling face I once could see. 

Good night, sweetheart. 
Life's day is fading fast. 
Its storms and sorrows soon will all be past,. 
But in the shadow of the coming night 
I send you, as of old, a fond good night. 



THE SHADOWS. 

I WAS painting a picture of roses, 
Dainty and pink and sweet; 
And I thought as I worked: " 'Tis the shadows 
That maketh the picture complete." 

Each one of our lives is a picture; 

We are painting it day by day; 
And if at last it is perfection, 

It must have the tints of gray. 

So the Master, the great art-teacher, 
Sends us pains that are hard to bear, 

And heartaches — because in our picture 
A shadow is needed there. 

For the pains and the heartaches are shadows. 
That dull rosy pleasure's bright tone; 

And we grumble, not knowing our picture 
To a higher perfection has grown. 

So when to us cometh a heartache, 
And the loss of things we held sweet, 

Eemember, 'tis only the shadows 
That maketh the picture complete. 



THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. 

[This poem was suggested by a beautiful sermon preached by 
a minister friend,] 

HAST thou heard of the valley enchanted, 
Where the birds have forgotten to sing; 
And amid the soft blue of the heavens, 
Have paused upon motionless wing; 
Where no breeze ever stirs the green forest, 

No leaf ever falls from a tree, 
No flower ever answers with blushes. 
The love-song of bird or of bee ? 

Where no sound of the ripple of waters 

Ever breaks on the cold, silver sand ; 
Where no burst of triumph or tumult 

Ever reaches this wonderful land ? 
'Tia the valley of waiting and silence; 

And though 'tis so perfect and fair. 
There is danger in breathing the perfume, 

That rests in the motionless air. 

For like some strange balm of a wizard. 

It lulls heart and soul into sleep. 
And we rest all contented, not knowing 

We arc held by a power so deep. 
And we sit with our idle hands folded. 

While the sirens are weaving the chain. 
That is mighty, though made just of roses, 

To bind us again and again. 



THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. 71 

And they feed our hearts with illusions, 

Vain hopes that are tempting and fair, 
And we drink deep the cup that they offer, 

Not knowing its dregs are despair. 
Are you wandering, friend, in this valley? 

Are you captive, yet think yourself free? 
Let me warn you to throw off the fetters 

That bind you so firmly, and flee. 

You think that the cords are of roses, 

You can break them whenever you will ; 
But like the iron chains of the captive, 

Though you break them, the scar is there still;. 
And if to-day you are wearing 

A chain, howe'er fragile it be, 
That binds some sin closer about you, 

While you can, throw it off and be free. 

You think that some day you will do it, 

And know not that with every hour 
That passes away in inaction 

Your captor is gaining in power. 
Begin now; be deeply in earnest, 

And slowly but surely you'll win. 
If you try with the Lord for your helper 

To throw off the slave chains of sin. 



OCTOBER. 

WHEN the sun is bright and golden, 
And the sky is soft and blue, 
When the leaves at early morning 

Bear no weight of shining dew, 
When upon the distant hilltops 

Seems to rest a smoky cloud, 
Yelling stately forest monarchs 

In a shifting, shimmering shroud — 
Then it is the glad, sweet autumn, 

Fairest time of all the year, 
And the beauty all around us 

Seems to say: " October's here." 

When upon the ground beneath us 

Is a carpet red and gold, 
When each lowly wayside flower 

Twice its sweetness doth unfold, 
When from every hedge and woodland 

Nods the feathery goldenrod. 
And the birds among the branches 

Praises sing to nature's Grod — 
Then it is the glad, sweet autumn. 

Fairest time of all the year, 
And the beauty all around us 

Seems to say: "October's here." 



TWO DAISIES. 

SOFTLY the birds in the meadows are sing- 

Flitting mid boughs that are laden with dew, 
Slowly a butterfly onward is winging, 

Seeking forever something that's new; 
Down by the fence, in the leafy trees' shadow, 

The first sweet daisy looks up to the light, 
Gold is its heart, and its long starry petals 

Are pure as winter snow, drifted and white. 

Stooping, I pluck it, this first pure daisy; 

In my heart thrills a memory of old ; 
Scenes that are vanished drift now before me. 

Out from the daisy's bright heart of gold; 
Gone are the hills and the birds' silvery singing; 

Gone is the meadow brook's ripple and gleam; 
Up, like an echo of strains that are silent, 

Floats once again that old, happy dream. 

Out from the midst of those starry white petals 
Eises a vision of days that are fled, 

And I am living again for a moment 

One sweet May-day whose daisies are dead. 

In a book, with some poor, withered flowers, 
I have a daisy whose sweetness is gone, 



74 



DREAMS AND REALITIES. 



Just a relic I keep in memory 

Of that May-day now so long flown. 

Just a rare little brio^ht-eyed daisy, 

Just a sweet wild flower somebody wore;. 
Only a dream of a dream that is faded, 

Faded and gone from my life evermore. 
Stooping, I kiss its long pure petals. 

Kiss for the sake of that daisy of old, 
And to this daisy a secret I'll whisper 

That to nobody ever was told. 




NO BOD Y E VER KNO WS. 

TIS not the mighty troubles 
That keep the soul oppressed; 
'Tis the little cares and heartaches, 

And that feeling of unrest; 
Tis that nameless, ceaseless longing 

That through human hearts still flows; 
Tis the hopes that fade and wither 
That nobody ever knows. 

There are dreams like glorious sunsets, 

Eich in tints of red and gold; 
For a while they blaze before us 

With a glory never told; 
Then we find a tiny shadow, 

Like the thorn upon the rose. 
And the golden dream is shattered, 

But nobody ever knows. 

We must crush away the heartache, 

On our faces wear a smile, 
Make believe that we are happy. 

Though our hearts ache all the while. 
This old world receiveth gladly 

One who smiles where'er he goes; 
Hence so many smiling faces 

Hidie a sorrow no one knows. 



76 DBEAMS AND KEALITIES. 

O the lofty aspirations 

That are crushed and put away, 
While the heart with sinking courage, 

Struggles with its cross to-day! 
Painter's brush and song of poet 

Tell the beauty of a rose, 
But no words can tell the glory 

Of those dreams that no one knows. 



O the wild, the nameless yearning 

That is throbbing through my soul ! 
Thoughts are there like unset jewels, 

But they can not outward roll, 
Words are lacking, words are feeble; 

And a rippling music flows 
Through and through my inmost being, 

That nobody ever knows. 



Had I wings more strong than eagle's, 

I might sail through seas of space. 
And upon some far-off planet, 

In some distant secret place, 
Find the power to set to music 

That sweet song that through me flows- 
Thrill the world to its deep center 

With a joy no one knx)ws. 



NOBODY EVER KNOWS. 77 

Have I said that no one knew them — 

All our heartaches and our cares, 
All our lofty aspirations, 

And our faintest whispered prayers? 
There is One who low is bending, 

And he heeds our slightest woes. 
Sees the tears that fall in secret; 

Every care we have he knows. 

He will share our every sorrow. 

He is promised for our Guide, 
And at last he'll safely lead us 

Out upon the other side. 
Take to him jour doubts and longings. 

He will hold you by the hand, 
Every heartache that you tell him 

He will know and understand. 




WHERE? 

WHEEE are the flowers gone to — 
The blossoms we used to know? 
Where are the birds that used to sing 

In the summers of long ago? 
Where are the golden peaches, 

And the red-cheeked apples too? 
Where are the amber-colored pears, 
And the grapes of dusky hue? 

Where are the sweet, white daisies 

That kissed the wandering feet? 
Where are the fair, June roses 

That made the world so sweet ? 
Where are the strains of music 

Whose echoes e'en are dead? 
Where are the smiles and glances, 

And the words that once were said? 



Are they lost? Over Time's river 

There is a mystic land, 
And in the boat of memory 

We may sail to its golden strand. 
We may catch the wash of the waters 

As they kiss the shell-strewn sand; 



WHERE? 79 

-In the beautiful land of the " used-to-be," 
My castle towers stand. 

The grass is soft to the weary feet, 

JN'ot a single thorn in view. 
The way is sweet with flowers 

Of every kind and hue. 
The birds sing in the branches 

That sang in the days gone by. 
And the lilies tall, by the castle wall, 

Smile up to the azure sky. 

Knee-deep in the perfumed clover 

We stand with a sense of rest, 
While the cresent moon, like a silver thread, 

Hangs low in the flowing west. 
And I hear the sweet, low music 

That I heard in the days of old, 
And the voices of old friends whisper 

The love that once was told. 



Oh, a wonderful land is the " used-to-be," 
Where friends are ne'er forgot; 

Where hearts are true and sorrows few — 
'Tis a blest and lovely spot. 

When you weary of life around you, 
Step into the light canoe, 



80 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And there with memory for your guide 
Sail over the waters blue. 



And beyond the rippling river 

Step out on the shining strand, 
And wander at will, and drink your fill 

Of the joys of that land. 
You will find all you used to cherish, 

All life's faded flowers you'll see; 
So sail away — you know the way — 

To the land of the " used-to-be." 




THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET. 

"HT'^HERB'S a hush in the house across the 
J- street. 

And a kind of chill in the summer air; 
And I hear the muffled tread of feet 

Come slowly down the winding stair. 
And I see white ribbon and snowy crape 

Float out on the breeze from the closed door; 
And I know that a baby's dimpling smile, 

Will brighten the gloom of that house no more. 

And in the dusk of the summer eve 

I see the mourners with faltering tread 
Come silently back to the darkened house, 

Whose light and life is dead. 
And I know that a mother weeps alone. 

And longs for the touch of those fingers sweet, 
That hold in their frozen, silent clasj) 

The joy of the house across the street. 

There's another house across the street, 
I can see from the other side of mine; 

From it comes the sound of dancing feet, 
And the lamps all glow and shine. 

I can hear the wail of the violin, 

And the voice of the fiddlers " prompt and call," 
6 



82 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And I know that all is joy within, 

For to-night is a young girl's debut ball. 

And I think of them in their merry glee, 

With the lights and music and flowers sweet; 
How little they care, it seems to me, 

For the heartache across the street! 
How little we care for our neighbor's woe. 

While pleasant still is the cup we take! 
How little we care for the tears that flow, 

And the suff'ering hearts that ache! 

We should sorrow more with our fellow men, 

For the tears of sympathy are sweet. 
We should feel a touch of pity and love 

For those in the house across the street. 
For the blessed Master, long ago. 

When he wept for Lazarus, showed how sweet 
It is our pity to bestow 

On the house across the street. 



1 '3f LONGING FOR THE HILLS. 

I'M longing for the hills, the dear old verdant 
hills, 
Within whose shadow I was wont to roam; 
Whose quiet, restful calm 
Would soothe me like a psalm; 
Oh, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home. 

I'm longing for the hills, the grand, majestic hills, 
That always seem to whisper "Peace " to pain; 

Whose wondrous, patient strength 

Could ease my heart at length, 
Oh, I'm longing for sight of them again. 

I'm longing for the hills, the towering, silent hills, 
Upon whose brow the white clouds seemed to 
rest; 
They stand so firm and sure, 
In calm or storm secure ; 
Oh, I long to lay my head upon their breast. 

I'm longing for the hills, the purple, mist crowned 
hills. 
Across which oft the summer birds have flown; 
Where I've gathered daisies white, 
In the hour of gloaming light; 
Oh, I'm longing for the dear old hills of home. 

I'm longing for the hills, the rus^ged, rock-ribbed 
hills; 



84 DKEAMS AND REALITIES. 

They were my friends in golden days long fled, 
I have sought their silence sweet, 
When life seemed nigh complete; 

I have sought them when the summer dreams 
were dead. 

I'm longing for the hills, the dear old towering 
hills; 
Whose snow-clad heights have seen my happi- 
est hours. 
Where I wandered oft to dream, 
By some purling, crystal stream. 
And found along its banks sweet autumn 
flowers. 

I'm longing for the hills, the glorious, dew-kissed 
hills, 
That have echoed to m^^ songs and sighs and 
prayer; 
Oh, the world is wide and bright, 
But no spot can so delight, 
No other place will ever seem so fair. 

I'm longing for the hills, the sheltering, restful 
hills. 
As I've seen them wrapped in silvery moon- 
light; 
Though I am so far from home, 
I long to backward roam, 
And rest in peace among those hills to-night. 



QUESTIONING. 

©Father, tell me, is it always so, 
That when hath faded all the sunshine fair? 
The place a darker, denser gloom doth know, 
Than if the glory never had been there? 

A little dream of joy, like a thread 
Of gold, amid a somber web of gray. 

Lived once adown a life, and now is dead. 
And e'en its glory shadow passed away. 

And o'er that life crept shadows strangely back, 
And silence followed discord — after song, 

Until adown its chilled and darkened track, 
A gloomy waste, it barren stretched along. 

Is it the memory of that far-off day 

That makes it darker than it would liave been? 
Like lips that once have known and loved to pray, 

Seem deeper scarred whpn they are steeped in 
sin. 

O tell me, will the darkness ever lift? 

Will time come when to think will not be pain? 
Adown life's current will the frail bark drift 

Back to the sunshine glory once again? 



86 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

Or if not that, from out the web of night, 
Will silver threads be spun instead of gold? 

Will something come to make its pathway bright 
And warm the heart that hath so long been 
cold? 



Methinks 'tis so. A stronger, truer love 
Than man can give, is guiding yet our lot; 

His tender eye is watching from above, 

And " peace " will come, for he forsakes us not. 



u/ % \W 



THE DA WN OF CHRISTMAS. 

NIGHT in a far eastern village, 
Where the palms and olives grow, 
Had come with its usual splendor, 

Once in the long ago ; 
And out on the hills, in silence, 

The faithful shepherds kept 
Their watch o'er the flocks, safe folded. 
While all the village slept. 

When, lo! from the azure heavens 

Streamed a glorious light afar. 
Like the glory of the noonday — 

'Twas a new and wondrous star, 
And the gates of heaven were opened. 

And a sweet, clear, angel voice 
Began to tell a message 

That has made the world rejoice. 

The sweetest, tenderest message 

That ever the world has known, 
Was told to the lowly shepherds. 

On the hills of Judea lone. 
"To you, in the city of David, 

A Saviour is born this day." 
These were the joyful tidings. 

That took their fear away. 



5 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And then the angel choir 

Began a glad new song, 
And the trembling stars reechoed 

The praise as it rolled along. 
" Glory to God in the highest," 

The shining thousands sang: 
" On earth peace, good will toward men," 

From heaven's arches rang. 

And the shepherds sought the Saviour, 

Who in a manger lay — 
The world's blessed Eedeemer, 

Who taketh all sin away. 
And from the East the wise men 

Had journeyed from afar 
O'er seas and arid deserts, 

Led on by the wondrous star — 

To find at last in a manger, 

The new-born King they sought; 
And they worshiped him and gave him 

Eich treasure that they had brought. 
So there, in a lowly stable. 

With the cattle by his side. 
Was born the world's Redeemer, 

The King of the Christmas-tide. 

And down through the mist of ages 

That have passed o'er this sin-stained earth 



THE DAWN OF CHRISTMAS. 89 

Have been hearts that delighted to honor 

The day of the Saviour's birth. 
And give to the poor and lowly, 

And to those whom Fate has blessed, 
(rood gifts. But, friends, remember 

That God's own Gift is best. 

For he gave heaven's fairest Jewel, 

On that first Christmas morn, 
When in a lowly stable 

The Prince of Peace was born. 
God gave his Gift to the shepherds, 

As well as the great wise men; 
Christ came to all the nations, 

As well as to Bethlehem. 

So light the moss-grown yule-log. 

And scatter your Christmas cheer, 
For the gladdest, happiest season 

Of all the year is here; 
Give gifts to friend and neighbor, 

And help the children sing, 
And make some poor heart lighter, 

While Christmas bells shall rin^. 

Speak words that are kind and loving, 
-Let none in anger fall; 



90 DKEAMS AND REALITIES. 

For the Prince of the Christmas season 
Was gentle and kind to all; 

And while we honor his birthday 
Let us strive to be more like him 

Who came to the high and lowly 
To bless and to save from sin. 



Let us strive to follow the pathway 

That his pure feet once trod, 
Which, though strewn with pains and crosses, 

Leads up to the throne of God, 
Where, with the ransomed thousands. 

His praises forever we'll sing: 
" Glory to God in the highest. 

And glory to Christ, our King." 




THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. 

WILD is the night and inky black the sky, 
In fitful gusts the wind goes sweeping by, 
A struggling moonbeam, piercing through a cloud. 
Hides ba«k, afrighted, at earth's cold, white 

shroud. 
The naked trees bend at the north wind's breath 
Thai comes to-night, a messenger from death. 

The year lies dying. All the lights are low, 

And in the hollow darkness he must go. 

Out from their graves the years all dead and 

gone 
Come like pale ghosts, borne by the storm. 
And cluster at the dying hero's side, 
To bear him o'er the ocean dark and wide. 

He gasps for breath, and struggles, all in vain ; 
That which is old can ne'er be young again; 
Then, miserlike, he seeks to rise once more. 
That he may revel in his hoarded store. 
Grreat wealth has he, this robber of the heart, 
Treasures he tore away that left a smart. 

Smiles torn from lips that ne'er will smile again, 
Tears, pure as pearls, wrung from some heart in 
pain, 



92 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

And VOWS of love that were some heart's deh'ght 
Lie with the dying miser's hoard to-night; 
And roses that once bloomed on beauty's cheek, 
And strength that left the loser, oh, so weak! 

Were you not rich enough, O heartless year. 
To leave me those few things I held most dear? 
Or did you take a pleasure in my pain? 
My simple treasures were not much to gain, 
And yet, old dying year, I prized them so. 
It wrings my heart, I can not let them go. 



They were the gifts you gave me when a child, 
Sweet glances from bright eyes, and lips that 

smiled. 
And — my bright wealth is gone. I need not tell 
Of what you robbed me, that I loved so well; 
O, give me back my treasure ere you go. 
To your last sleep beneath the frozen snow. 

I thought you were my friend when first you 

came. 
And ever and again I blessed your name. 
You gave me something that became so dear 
I scarce can let it go, old dying year; 
And then you took your gift away from me, 
And I am tossed upon an unknown sea. 



THE DEATH OF THE YEAR. 93 

O give me back, I pray, the nights of June, 
The fragrant flowers heavy with perfume; 
And one March day, so laden with delight. 
Give them, oh, give them, back to mo to-night; 
And sweet September must they all — all go. 
And leave me in a wilderness of woe? 

The night grows wilder and the winds more loud. 
The frightened moon creeps underneath a cloud, 
The golden sands of life are nearly run; 
A few more moments, then his life is done; 
From his cold hands his stolen jewels fall. 
He struggles now no more, but waits the call. 

He lifts his cold, wan face for one more breath, 
And feels about him close the arms of death; 
The winds go sweeping through the boughs o'er- 

head, 
Bearing this message: "95 is dead." 
'Tis done! The ghosts of years that are no more. 
Have borne another comrade to their shore. 

And I am sitting here alone — alone! 

With dying embers on the cold hearthstone, 

Like hopes and golden dreams that could not last; 

I'm sitting mid the ashes of the past. 

Bereft of treasures that made life so bright, 

Buried in the old year's grave to-night. 



THE RECOMPENSE. 

THE mountain-peak that lifts its Btorm-scarred 
face 
Close to the frowning clouds and thunder's roar 
Stands patient, waiting in its troubled place 
Till clouds are past and boist'rous storms are 
o'er. 

For well it knows that when the day is done, 
On peace-crowned nights, when azure skies are 
clear, 

Than valleys, that receive the kiss of sun, 
To the great golden stars, it is more near. 

So we who on life's way the storms may meet 
And find our skies with gloomy clouds o'ercast. 

May cheer ourselves with this assurance sweet: 
We shall be near the stars of peace at last. 

The life that is attuned to heights of bliss 
Will ever vibrate to the strokes of woe; 

And souls that feel a perfect calm in this. 
In fairer life no greater joy will know. 

Like wondrous instrument, to voice song 

The heart must first be not unknown to sighs; 



THE KECOMPENSE. 95 

A richer joy is that which we so long 

Have viewed as out of reach through tear- 
stained eyes. 

The river that is rushing to the sea, 

O'er jagged rocks down many a rugged hill, 

Is happier than the pool can ever be, 

That standeth in the valley calm and still. 

For it will reach the ocean by and by , 

And leave behind the rough and broken land; 

While, though the endless years shall onward fly. 
Within the valley still the pool will stand. 

So we, who long to stop and step aside. 

And dwell where ceaseless calms unbroken 
reign. 

Oh, know we not that if it could be tried. 
We give up all the joys with the pain? 

We rise, alone, by climbing in this life; 

'Tis not a question of who can^ but will; 
The heights are waiting, past the storms and 
strife, 

They never will be reached by standing still. 

We know not always how to breast the tide, 
But past mistakes may serve as stepping-stones, 



96 DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 

And with a steadfast purpose as our guide 

Our trembling feet may rest at last on thrones. 

And those who suffer most are best prepared 
For perfect bliss, when perfect bliss shall come. 

Hath not a loving Father, One who cared, 
Arranged it all, and waits to lead us home? 

So why should we sit down with idle tears, 
And fret and mourn at every petty loss? 

We know not why, but 'tis the rule of years 
That every crown hides under it a cross. 

And they who long the golden crowns to wear, 
Must bravely lift the cross that must be borne; 

And courage will be sent to help them bear 
The cross, until the crown at last is worn. 



So cast aside your misery and woe, 

O hearts that in the darkness blindly grope, 

A glorious recompense j^ou yet shall know 
If you will only struggle, wait,' and hope. 




THE OLD APPLE-TREE. 

®D0 you remember the old apple-tree, 
Where we played in the days gone by, 
The song of the birds and the hum of the bees, 

And the blue of the soft vSouthern sky? 
How we swung on its limbs in the bright days 
of spring, 
When its branches with blossoms were gay. 
And were oft covered o'er with its pink and 
white snow; 
Oh, I long for its beauty to-day. 



O do you remember the old apj^le-tree, 

With its apples so tempting and red? 
How we scratched feet and fingers as upward 
we climbed 

To the prize that awaited o'erhead? 
How we'd sit on the limbs when we reached 
them at last. 

As proud as a king on his throne, 
Care-free and as happy as any wild bird? 

Alas that those days should have flown ! 

O have you forgotten the old apple-tree? 
To-day, in my still, darkened room, 

7 



98 DREAMS AND EEALITIES. 

Like a dead chord of music ghost fingers have 
stirred, 
Floats round me its dainty perfume; 
And I wonder if you, little playmate of old, 

Wherever to-day you may be, 
Have lost in life's shadow our youth's sunny 
gold, 
And forgotten the old apple-tree? 




THE LAND OF BY AND BY. 

THERE is a wondrous country, 
Where the skies are always clear, 
Where the birds are always singing 

In the spring-time of the year; 
Where the fruits are ripe and luscious, 

And the flowers never die, 
And our hearts at last are happy, 
'Tis the land of by and by. 

Round this country's sunny border 

Flows a beauteous sapphire sea. 
On whose calm and sunlit waters 

All life's treasure-ships sail free- 
Free, with not a wind to wreck them; 

All life's clouds and storms are past. 
And they reach the magic haven 

Where our dreams come true at last. 

In this hapj)y fairy country 

Are the joys we've craved so long, 
And its perfumed air has power 

To change every sigh to song. 
Every wrong at last is righted, 

Love is ruler of the land. 
And his subjects are united, 

Heart with heart, as hand with hand. 



100 DEEAMS AND REALITIES. 

Gone life's heartaches and its sorrows, 

Left behind its cares and tears, 
Glorious land of bliss unendinor I 

Land that we have loved for years ! 
O how often we look forward, 

Often through a tear-dimmed eye, 
To some cherished hope's fulfilment 

In the land of by and by. 

Even when life's storms are thickest. 

And our dreams in ruins lie, 
Hope points out a golden finger 

Toward the land of by and by. 
And the whole world, strong and feeble, 

Eich and poor, and great and small. 
E'en against our wiser judgment 

Follow onward at her call. 

Follow on where hope is leading, 

Like a will-o' -wisp's bright spark. 
Keeping ever just beyond us, 

While around us all is dark. 
" Onward ! " though our hearts are heavy, 

Thus we harken to her cry, 
All will be made right forever 

In the land of by and by. 



ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. 

" Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the 
world." 

SOMETIMES ray cross seems very hard to 
bear, 
Sometimes I falter neath my weight of care, 
And sorrows press too heavy to be borne, 
And in the darkness I feel all alone. 
Then to me comes the words of that dear Friend, 
That He'll be with me, even to the end. 

When hearts grow cold and friends forsake, 
When cruel wrong makes my poor heart to 

ache. 
Like stars, that shine from out the darkest 

night, 
Those words return and make my pathway 

bright ; 
For though my life of grief may have full share, 
No way can be all gloom if He is there. 

When storms of sorrow shake my inmost soul, 
And pains, like ocean billows, o'er me roll, 
And when I feel most lonely in my grief 
I cry to him for comfort and relief; 
For though defenseless, Jesus will defend. 
And walk beside me even to the end. 



ALIE^ JjILJES. 

THEY came, those fragrant treasures, 
Flowers both gay and bright. 
But the ones I prized the highest 
Were the lilies, pure and white. 

There were queenly, full-blown blossoms, 

Heavy with rare perfume, 
And buds whose waxen petals 

Had hardly dreamed of bloom. 

Two buds whose captive sweetness. 
From prisons pure and white, 

At the Master's silent bidding, 
Were only freed to-night. 

Two lilies dwarfed in blooming 

So far from the parent stem. 
But wondrous sweet and perfect. 

And a lesson I learned from them : 

That though our lives are severed 
From what once made them sweet. 

By silent, patient growing 
They yet may be complete. 



ALIEN LILIES. 103 

'Not with the glorious beauty 

That once they might have known, 

But with a sweet perfection 

That the angels make their own. 

Though a breath of sadness mingles 
With their perfume, faint and rare, 

Though they are dwarfed in blooming, 
They are none less sweet and fair. 

So though our lives are severed 
From the dreams and hopes of old, 

Like these sweet alien lilies. 
Our best may yet unfold. 

And though a hint of sorrow. 

From the tears that we have known, 

Will mingle with life's perfume. 
We've a sweetness all our own. 



HE SPEAKS TO ME. 

TT T^HO says God's voice is silent? 
V»V-^ That to us he speaks no word? 
List, then, thou unbeliever, 

When the leafless trees are stirred 
B}^ the voice of the north wind, 

Bidding nature sleep once more, 
Sweet emblem of the dreamless rest 

For troubled hearts in store. 



He speaks to me in spring-time, 

When the first bluebird's trill 
Calls to the buried flowers 

Beside the frozen rill. 
In the flower's resurrection 

My Father speaks to me, 
Saying, " Behold, another life 

Is also waiting thee." 

He speaks to me at evening hour, 
When adown the western sky 

Gleam colors more resplendent . 
Than any earthly dye. 

Then I catch, it seems, an echo 
From beyond the pearly gates, 



HE SPEAKS TO ME. 105 

And he says, " Behold, my daughter, 
Wondrous splendor for thee waits." 

Again, when countless jewels 

Shine upon the brow of night, 
I read my Father's message 

In trembling worlds of light. 
And he seems to say: " Be patient 

With your earthly ills and care. 
Past the stars sweet peace is waiting, 

And a robe and crown are there. " 

And in the inky darkness. 

Like a lost soul's black despair, 
1 see the red-tongued lightning, 

And I know that He is there. 
He who holds the raging tempest 

In the hollow of His hand 
Speaks to me with wild winds' voices 

Of a happy, stormless land. 



He speaks to me ! O joy 

Unspeakable, complete ! 
Though heartless worlds forsake me, 

I hear His voice so sweet. 
And though His pitying message 

Through the lips of death may be, 



106 DltEAMS AND REALITIES. 

I will not cease to trust Him, 
For I know He speaks to me. 

Speaks to me, though poor and lowly; 

Speaks to me in accents mild ; 
Speaks of peace and love and comfort; 

Speaks, and calls e'en me his child. 
Wondrous joy ! Strangest story. 

That such happiness can be. 
That, despite my human weakness, 

God from heaven speaks to me. 




AUTUMN LEAVES, 

THEY are falling— softly falling, 
Fluttering down on golden wing; 
And to me they are calling — calling 

Of the far-off days of spring: 
April with her shine and showers, 

When they budded fresh and fair; 
Gladsome May, whose sunny hours 
Nurtured beauty everywhere. 

They are floating — turning — floating, 

Filling hollows brown and old. 
Till, like misers, they are gloating 

O'er their wealth of gleaming gold. 
Down the air the leaves are drifting, 

Like a homeless bird awing; 
Through the barren branches sifting. 

And a song they seem to sing. 

Golden summer days are ended. 

Silvery summer nights are past; 
Shine and shadow now are blended 

In the web of autumn vast. 
Golden dreams, like summer glory, 

In the dusk of autumn eves 
Drift away — the old, old story — 

Wither like the autumn leaves. 



108 DREAMS AND REALITIES. 

They are drifting — earthward drifting- 

Autumn leaves of red and gold; 
But to heaven the trees are lifting 

Empty arms all bare and cold. 
So we stand when gloom is folding 

Golden dreams that did not last, 
And our empty arms we're holding — 

Holding ever toward the past. 



HANDS. 

LITTLE hands so soft and fair, 
Dimpled hands that catch at air, 
Eose-leaf pahns and fingers small, 
Tiny hands that hearts enthrall — 
Baby hands. 

Little hands so smooth and fair. 
Little hands that jewels wear ; 
Hidden half in lacy fold, 
More than one true heart they hold — 
G-irlish hands. 

Trembling hands so frail and white. 
Orange-blossoms hold to-night. 
Clasping fingers firm and strong, 
Vowed to guard her her life long — 
Wedded hands. 

Tender hands with reverent touch, 
Throbbing heart that loves so much. 
Soothing pain with sweet caress. 
Made to comfort and to bless — 
Mother hands. 

Patient hands so rough and worn 
From the crosses they have borne. 



110 DKEAMS AND REALITIES. 

Yoid of symmetry or grace, 
Years of toil on them we trace — 
Tired hands. 

Little hands so white and cold, 
Marble hands that lilies hold, 
Weary hands that lie so still, 
Frozen heart no love can thrill — 
Lifeless hands. 

Lovely hands no longer worn 
From the toils that they have borne. 
Pure hands that clasp and hold 
Tenderly a harp of gold — 
Angel hands. 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

iililiillllililllilllllii 

015 785 735 6W 






::.i' 



" *:^:^ 



